Sleeping Together
by MoonlightBreeze7
Summary: Ziva seeks comfort from Tony after killing Hoffman in Recoil, season five, episode sixteen. Tiva oneshot. Rated T to be safe.


**Author's Note: Hi, guys! This is my first NCIS fanfiction. I wrote it after watching Tony offer to take Ziva out for drinks in Recoil, season five, episode sixteen. And I know from watching NCIS for a long time (I'm rewatching the series currently) that Ziva puts on a tough persona when she's around other people, but when she's alone with someone she trusts, it can come crumbling down. (When she sobbed on Gibbs's shoulder in Hiatus) So, I thought I'd write what I think should have happened. Unofficial Tiva. Let me know what you think!**

"One drink. I'll talk, you listen."

"_No_."

The response was so adamant, so clear, that Tony almost didn't push his luck any further. But he knew that there was no way he was leaving Ziva in the bullpen without at least letting her know that she could talk to him.

"Okay, Ziva," Tony said softly. He reached in his jacket pocket and drew out the copy of the key to his apartment, the one he'd been meaning to give to Ziva ever since he had it made. Now seemed as good a time as any.

Half-expecting her to shove his hand away the moment it touched her skin, Tony reached out and gently took her hand, pressing the key into her palm and wrapping her fingers around it. He gave her hand a couple of reassuring pats and then made his way to the elevator, looking back one last time at his partner sitting in the bullpen, silently staring at the hand he had touched.

"_Still crazy?"_

"_...steely killer…"_

"_I didn't mean to make light of what you went through. I was just trying to get you out of your headspace, y'know?"_

"_I was just going to tussle your hair. Sometimes it makes you smile."_

Ziva raked her hands through her hair, fighting the urge to scream. She looked down again at the key that she had never let go of since Tony, his eyes and touch both so gentle and open, had pressed it into her palm.

_You know what, fuck it_, she thought, and grabbed her coat.

_I'm just going because I can't sleep._

_He'll help me sleep._

_That's the only reason I'm going._

With that mantra repeating in her head, Ziva got in her car and drove haphazardly to her partner's apartment.

Tony sprung awake at the sound of his door being opened. He heard the key in the lock and was minutely calmed by this; surely a killer or someone that wasn't supposed to be there would not have a key.

Remembering suddenly in his post-sleep haze that he had given Ziva the key that evening, he quickly threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt and went to meet her in the entryway. He didn't want her feeling bad for waking him up.

"Ziva?" he called out gently to the Mossad agent, who was standing on the welcome mat with an unsure expression on her face. Her gaze snapped to his when he spoke, but she quickly focused it on the floor instead.

Predicting this level of emotional distance, Tony hurriedly crossed his apartment in two long strides until he was by her side, his hands in her hair, tilting her face upwards to meet his eyes.

Ziva's chocolate-brown eyes were heavy with exhaustion and strain. A few unshed tears glittered like crystals in them, making them look glassy in the light of the entryway.

"Ziva," Tony said again.

"I can't sleep," the younger agent said softly. "I knew you'd help me sleep."

Tony thought back to all of the other times that one of them had ended up in the other's apartment under the pretense of 'I can't sleep'.

The first time, it had been him.

Occasionally, there were nights when no amount of restless tossing and turning could make Tony fall asleep. There were nights when images of gruesome murders infiltrated his mind until they were all he could see. There were nights when Tony didn't want to sleep, for fear of the nightmares that would come.

On one such night, being more than slightly tipsy at the time, Tony had found himself taking a cab to Ziva's apartment, knocking loudly on her door at two in the morning, and finding himself dragged inside with a suspicious look that held poorly veiled concern.

Ziva had made him a drink and sat silently until he began to talk, pouring out all of the nightmares, all of his fears, and all of the darkest demons that rested in his conscious and subconscious mind. And when he was finally finished talking, Ziva led him to her bed, settled him on the opposite side, and said, "Go to sleep now, Tony."

And he had.

And the nightmares hadn't come that night.

And in the morning, they both woke to find themselves tangled in each other's embrace.

The next time, it was her.

It was the anniversary of Tali's death; Ziva had revealed this to him after incessant pressing, and he had felt awful for asking. But to his relief, she seemed to want to talk about it. She told him stories about Tali, things that she had liked, and things that they had both done together. Not once did she shed a tear while she was recounting these things to Tony.

But later that night, as Tony sat up on the couch watching _The Godfather_, he had heard a tentative knock on the door. He opened it to find the hardened Mossad agent standing on his doorstep, looking for all the world like a vulnerable child. He had invited her in, settled her on the couch beside him, and asked her what she was thinking.

Just like that, the walls came crumbling down, and Tony saw Ziva cry for the first time ever.

He held her, pulled her close to him, and whispered sweet nothings into her dark hair. And when her tears had slowed and her breath no longer came in gasps, Tony had kissed her forehead, taken her hand, and led her to his bed.

This time, there was no pretense of professionalism between the two. Tony didn't want cold space between them, and Ziva didn't seem to want any, either. He held her, his arms around her waist, her back to him in a classic spooning position.

And Tony said, "Go to sleep now, Ziva."

And in the morning, when they woke up still in each other's arms, neither were surprised or unhappy about it.

It continued like that for a while. Eventually, Ziva saw Tony cry for the first time. Correction: she saw him sob desperately, and held him tightly to her chest while he did.

They had been each other's lifelines for as long as either of them could remember; they never questioned it or thought about it too much. It felt too natural and too right to question.

And so Tony didn't question how the younger Mossad agent came to show up at his door, nor why the trembling girl before him was there.

He already knew.

"Of course, I'll help you sleep," he told her. "Of course I will. Just like you always do for me."

Tony took Ziva's hand and led her to the couch. He half-expected her to protest when he placed her on his lap instead of the cushion next to him, but she didn't. Instead, she curled up underneath him, tucking her head beneath his chin. He was surprised by the amount of vulnerability the usually cold warrior was allowing herself to show.

It wasn't until he saw that Ziva was shaking slightly and felt hot tears falling onto his t-shirt that he realised she was already too far gone to worry about how she appeared to the man before her.

Tony wrapped his arms tightly around the younger girl, holding her to him as she sobbed into his shirt.

"Let it out," he whispered into her hair. "Just let it all out." He reached one hand up and began to run his fingers through her hair. She liked to pretend she hated it, but Tony knew that she loved having her hair played with, and in a time like this, it was as comforting a gesture as he could think to manufacture.

"Tony...I…" she gasped, unable to put her thoughts and feelings into her words.

"I know, I know," he responded, silencing her need to make him understand.

She didn't need to make him understand.

He already understood perfectly.

"You did everything just right," he told her, his lips next to her ear. She shivered, a tremor that ran through her entire body. Tony pulled her even closer to him, trying to tell her exactly how he felt about her without any words.

"I love you, Ziva," Tony whispered. It was the least he could say; she already knew that, he had made it quite obvious, but a reminder in the darkest of darks could never hurt.

"I...I love you, t-too, Tony," Ziva replied, her voice quivering with the tears that still poured down her cheeks.

Neither of them spoke after that, preferring the silence that said all of the words that they wanted to say but couldn't bring voice to.

Eventually, Ziva's sobs faded into silence, and she grew limp in Tony's arms. Her eyes were closed, but Tony knew she wasn't sleeping, not yet.

He stood up, arms still wound tightly around her, and began to walk them into his bedroom. He gave Ziva a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt to wear, and averted his eyes while she changed.

Then, she climbed into bed next to him.

However, instead of facing away from him, as she usually did, when Tony tried to turn her on her back, she stayed his hands with a gentle press of her own.

"I need more to sleep tonight," she said softly, hoping and praying that he would understand, hoping that he wouldn't state their 'professional boundaries' as reason not to.

Tony, as usual, did not let her down.

Instead, without a word, his hands big and gentle on her shoulders, he turned her to face him.

Ziva moved closer to Tony until her head rested on his chest. Tony's arms held her to him securely.

"Go to sleep now, Ziva," he whispered.

And she did.

Many people had insinuated or downright blatantly stated over the years that Tony and Ziva were more than coworkers, more than friends, even more than partners.

Every time they'd been asked, it was easy to lie, to the person asking and to themselves, and say no.

But no one had ever asked them if they were sleeping together.

Tony and Ziva were grateful for this, because they both knew that if anyone did, they wouldn't know what to say. Sleeping together was a common euphemism for sex, and while it's true that they had never had sex, no matter how much they both wanted to, they _were _sleeping together.

They were sleeping together, and yes, it was intimate. It was as intimate as it could possibly get.

But not many people could understand how Tony and Ziva slept together. Not many people shared that level of intimacy. Not many people knew how it felt to always have someone that they could turn to.

It was because of this that the next morning, when Tony and Ziva woke up wrapped in each other's arms, mouths mere inches apart, neither of them questioned it or thought much about it.

After all, it's not like they were breaking the rules. Not yet.

They were only sleeping together.


End file.
